


Hidden Undertaking

by orphan_account



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Medieval, Angst, Drama, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-07-09
Updated: 2013-07-16
Packaged: 2017-12-18 06:57:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,491
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/876933
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Kingdom of Raviel is crumbling, and the king is naive to it's descent. The young prince Lovino is eager to take the throne until he learns he must marry a queen to do so. Angered, he flees to the outskirts of the realm where he seeks to get away from the palace. There, he meets Antonio Carriedo, who runs the local inn and tavern, and is as daft as he is curious to find out who Lovino really is.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello new readers! Thank you very much for deciding to read my newest work, Hidden Undertaking. I hope you will stick along with me as I conquer writing this fiction, since I plan to have it be at least twelve to fifteen chapters long. It'll be the longest fiction I've published to date.   
> I'm very welcome to comments/messages, so if you would like to reach me, the quickest way to do so will be by the inbox on my tumblr account: http://shooptastic.tumblr.com/ask  
> I will be updating every week on Tuesdays (unless posted otherwise) on AO3, FF.net, and through my tumblr. If I haven't updated, I've either forgotten or missed my deadline, in which case it will be up shortly!  
> Thanks again for reading and I hope you enjoy! c:

Times were tough, and through reading deep tomes of how events had played out long before his birth, these droughts, these depressions, and these diseases plaguing the land would continue well after he was old. Antonio Carriedo was a humble man, living with his parents in an equally humble home. This home was large, but only large to accommodate the inn inside of it, the only inn in seven horizons. Many people came to stay within their walls, people of all sorts; travelers, huntsmen, noblemen, soldiers and if the conditions were right, royalty. Such conditions were predicted by the soothsayer by the well, preaching to anyone who would listen that a storm from God would rein down upon them so mightily that not only would the dried, parched crops be watered, but flooded.

            Antonio and his parents feared the man and ignored his hallucinations. His mother said once as she dished out a watery soup to the small family that he was a scum to the streets and they’d all do best to stay away from him, for he might carry a disease or two. Their life was reticent, indeed. The inn also housed a tavern that his father worked in when the time was right, and he doubled as a chef, mainly cooking meats they could not afford themselves for the weary travelers. Unfortunately, his mother was falling ill to a fever and while she resided in bed, he took up the job as being the servant to the inn, washing the linens and putting them back on. He felt run ragged, yet, with all of the struggling his family had to do, he would do it all again no matter what. He was proud to be a Carriedo, and he could tell they were, too, although somehow it didn’t shine as through as bright as he would have liked. He liked to think he carried their name through a battlefield with pride and honor.

            He was a quiet young man. He was cunning and still slow for his age of seventeen, not knowing how to read properly and faltering on reciting the scientific method. He hadn’t the time for tutoring or schooling. Antonio had his mother’s hair, traveling down to his shoulders and often held back into a tail with a dulled white ribbon. It was brown, curled, and waved like an ivy bush. He shared his mother’s eyes as well, a dark, rich green that shined with every new morning. His father sometimes felt ashamed to look at his son and see the wife he had failed, but saw past the resemblance of his dear love and saw a strong man he had helped raise and teach all these years. He worried if he fell ill, too, if he could handle it. He felt guilt.

            Come one autumn evening when the soothsayer’s prediction came true. A storm unlike any other shouted at their dwelling, howling like a wolf to a full moon in the dark. His father had gone to bed and Antonio had been tending to the bar, knowing someone would wander in for lodging and he’d be the one awake to do it. He hadn’t slept very soundly in a week, and he’d be ashamed to admit that he wasn’t as alert as he’d like to be. He was indolently polishing a flimsy bowl while a burly man at the bar dropped his share of coins and a very miniscule tip. He heard a wooden shutter clatter against the stone walls and sighed, digging deeper into his pouch.

            “How much for a room, tonight?” He grumbled, and Antonio blinked at him, confused until the sky lit up outside and thundered. “Boy?”

            “Forty-six silver,” he told him, wiping his eyes with his forearm and blinking awake, taking the man’s money when he counted it out and securing it in the box below the bar. He fetched an iron key from the rack below and a readied a pitcher of water, as with every guest he took. “I’ll take your mule to the stable.” He told him distractedly, and opened the room to the modest room, a darkly lit bedroom with a wide, soft bed and a leaky window, a candle lantern on an offset nightstand that held the bowl he’d put the pitcher in and lay out the Bible, just as such.

            “What I wouldn’t do for a maiden, too,” the man muttered, and began to undress. Antonio wished him a goodnight, thinking nothing of his comments, and left to walk into the pouring rain to lead the distressed mule into the warm, dry stable.

            It was numbingly wintry for the fall, the night was, and he regretted not bringing his cloak with him so he could shield his head from the rain. He muscles ached, his eyes burned, watered up, and brought on tears from the chapping wind. A tremor ran through his body and he patted the mule’s broad neck before heading back out into the rain and back into the residence for some hard-earned sleep.

 

-    ♦    -

           

            Many noblemen across the kingdom would agree that the promise of a fine life to each subject were corrupt. Yet, it didn’t seem a problem to them. They did not have to pay the harsh taxes inflicted on the peasants dwelling in small villages and they could eat, laugh, make love, and be merry without a care in the world. The king was like this as well, only sitting at his throne with his lovely queen, kissing at the lips of the occasional mistress and making sure his sons were well.

            Lovino was the oldest and deemed heir for the throne. He looked like his father, although not as well rounded and not as passionate for his methods of ruling the kingdom. He had his father’s hazel eyes and his mother’s hair, and it was always cut in a clean fashion to his Adam’s apple, never knotted or dirty and frequently tied back with a single silk ribbon. Everyone knew what he looked like and he was seen as a public figure, known for his outspoken ways and his passion to defend every subject in the realm— and not just the ones that mattered. He detested lavish things but accepted them, anyway, was as close to God as his feet were to the ground, and often composed speeches on the spot at the dinner table, accusing his father of doing unjust tasks as his family ate their evening meal together. He was often ignored, but he knew it wouldn’t be long before he would be able to say what was right.

            One day, his mother and father entered his quarters, seeing his nose buried in a book no doubt written by previous kings or their ancestors. He looked up at them, confused by their presence and wordlessly turned back to his book.

            “My son,” his father began, smiling effortlessly at his obdurate heir. He loved that he interested himself in studies, but he should have been with a tutor practicing his languages. He sat in a chair, his fist supporting his temple, avoiding eye contact. “You are of a decent age, are you aware?”

            “I’m almost twenty years old, yes.” He mumbled, his voice absent from the conversation. His father cleared his throat and Lovino slid the ribbon that was once in his hair to mark his spot, staring at him for him to continue. “Plenty old to rule.”

            “You will rule in your own time.” His father hummed, taking the hand of his beloved wife and leading her forward. “My son, you know I love your mother very much.” His son’s eyes widened, confused and a little afraid. He clutched his book and stood up from his crumpled position in the chair to face them.

            “What is this, father?” Lovino demanded, setting his book aside. “What are you trying to say to me?”

            “It has come time for you to marry,” the king told him clearly, clasping his wife’s hand. “We have called all eligible women of royalty from the surrounding kingdoms. They will be present on the anniversary of your birth… we have planned to have a ball in your honor, and there, you will chose a maiden to be yours.”

            His father winced and sighed when Lovino cried out in disbelief, unable to cope for a brief moment of what was to come. “I only have one night to chose?” He clarified, flabbergasted. “You expect me to chose a woman in one night to be my queen?!”

            “Not exactly, my son.” He calmed him, walking over and being stopped when he shot up his hand to halt him. “If you show a little interest in perhaps five, maybe four? We will have them stay with us and you may decide further. Please, give it a chance.”

            Lovino collapsed back onto the chair, his hands hiding his face. His mother tutted once she knew what he was doing. It was only clear to his father when an arching sob lifted from his chest and twisted its way out of Lovino’s throat like a dull knife. The king began to say something, but his son screamed instead. “I do not wish to marry a maiden! I only wish to concentrate on ruling the kingdom, not lackluster tasks such as mingling with daft women!”

            His mother gasped, nearly hiking her skirts to her knees to go over there and strike her son into reality but couldn’t bring herself to. “Lovino Vargas!” She exclaimed, batting her husband away when he chided her to calm down. “If you think all women are daft, then I regret to inform you that half of the kingdom you wish to protect falls under that category!” The queen nearly cried, and found that she did in fact have the courage to hike her skirts up in her arms to storm over to her first born and rip his hands away from his face to make him look at her. “My child, your father did the same when he was younger than you. To rule, you must have a queen.” She told him in a much smaller tone, caressing his face and wiping back his tears staining his cheeks. “That is tradition.”

            “But, Mother,” he began. “What has our kingdom been like with tradition for the past decades?”

            “It is tradition.” She stressed. “We’ll do best to follow it. When you are king and we are gone, then you may decide what to do with our heritage.” Her son began to object again and she spoke over him, her voice commanding. “You will attend the ball on your birthday tomorrow and you will choose a handful of maidens. You don’t have very many companions, maybe one will emerge.”

            “A woman companion,” Lovino laughed half-heartedly.

            “Do you mock your parents?” She demanded, and his smile faded just as quickly as his chambermaid turned away to make his bed. “Your father and I have been companions for twenty-five years. You’ll do best not to mock your own kin, Lovino.”

            “And you’ll do best not to detest your younger brother if we decide to make him the heir with your attitude.” His father added. Lovino’s face truly sank. “He is an eligible heir, as well.”

            “He’s eleven years old!” Lovino cried out. “Have you ever witnessed a child at the throne so young? He has not the knowledge or skills I have acquired to rule a kingdom!”

            His mother lightly tapped his face and walked away from him, huffing. “Then you’d best be on your highest behavior for the ladies who come tomorrow night. A servant will prepare you at dawn to take you to the tutor to revise your manners.” As she spoke, she laced her arm through her husband’s and left his room, her nose as wrinkled as her son’s vile countenance.

            Yes, Lovino felt he was fit to rule a kingdom, but he was not as avid to be responsible for the left hand of a woman for the rest of his life.

 

-    ♦    -

           

            Antonio soon saw a strong-bodied horse in front of the inn on his way back, tied up to the wooden post to the right of the door. A signal that a new traveler needed a room. He looked wearily back to the stables and his shoulders sagged, a small sob escaped him, and he made his way back indoors to see a cloaked figure warming his hands by the fireplace, glancing his way when Antonio entered.

            “Do you need a room?” He asked, his voice cracked, but always welcome. The hooded figure nodded, and glanced outside when a crack of thunder echoed through the building. “I’ll take your horse to the stables.” He comforted him, although his words had been stripped to bare emotion, only reassurance there instead of his usual passion.

            “Your finest room,” the hooded man spoke, his lips only visible from the cover of the cloak. A slender, white hand fetched a deep purple velvet pouch of coins from a dark brown leather satchel. Antonio’s words halted in his mouth and he looked, breathless at him as all the gold spilled out from the pouch like a never-ending waterfall. He looked quickly to see gold and rich metal rings on his thin fingers.

            “Are you a thief?” He asked silently, his hand dumbly finding the dagger under the counter. “We don’t take kindly to thieves, sir, I only ask you to protect my family. We are very poor; you see, there is nothing of interest for you to take—”

            “I’m no thief.” He growled. “I am weary and I wish to stay here for as long as I please. Will this be enough?”

            “P-Plenty.” Antonio nodded quickly, shakily taking a couple coins and putting them in the hidden compartment, leaving the rest he did not need behind. The hooded figure cleared his throat when Antonio rose from behind the desk and imprudently stared at him, the key in his hand.

            “You only took two coins.” He murmured.

            “The room is only a couple pieces of gold a night, sir; you have given me over fifty pieces.” Antonio laughed nervously. He was stopped when he was only stared at by the mysterious figure. “It is too much. What will you buy food with? What will you use for at your leisure?” He asked plainly, staring back.

            The man thought of this and placed them back in his velvet pouch, pulling the gold string tight and pocketing it again. “Lead me to my room, then,” he mumbled, and Antonio did as such, pouring another pitcher of water while his guest gathered his belongings. He hesitated. Antonio requested what was the matter. “I left a bag on my horse.”

            “I will bring it to you,” he offered, and the man nodded, leading him up the stairs and down the corridor to their well-kept room, one that they had reserved for the more noble guests or ones willing to pay the price. The didn’t want a bad reputation for a shady inn, so they kept a few in well order with a wider, longer, softer bed with a fireplace and the richest linens, as well as a wide, beautiful carpet on the floor so their feet weren’t to be too cold against the hard wood.

            The man snorted as he set his belongings on the chest to use at his disposal and Antonio placed the pitcher of water on the white, polished china bowl (an heirloom from his mother’s side) and stepped back. “May I get you anything else?” He asked, and the man hummed.

            “My bag.” He grumbled, as if it were obvious, and it was, Antonio would give himself that. He nodded, forcing a smile through his tired demeanor and set the key on the table by the door to do with what he willed.

            Antonio trudged back down the stairs, through the inn, back outside, and retrieved the bag from the horse’s back, fastened with beautiful detailed iron buckles and rich, polished leather straps. He took a small moment to admire them while he was pummeled with hard rain, and then took the bag back inside, up the stairs yet again, to deliver them to his guest. He stopped just outside the room and battled with himself, propelled by curiosity to look inside it, expecting to see jewels and chains of gold and sterling silver, but only seeing the spines of three books, a corked bottle, and something cloaked in fur moving very slightly. He heard footsteps from within and closed it immediately, knocking on the door and opening when he heard no response. “Your bag, sir—”

            Antonio felt his breath escape him and catch once he saw the man’s pale, thin back, not as thin as he was, but gangling and spider-like. His brown hair was pulled back with a wide, blue ribbon. He felt as if he was someone familiar but the thought left as quickly as it came, because the bag’s handle was taken from him at a stunning pace, the man’s piercing hazel eyes met his in a fierce glare, and he was shoved out of the room with unexpected force. Antonio fell, a sharp gasp leaving his throat as he looked up in time to see the wooden door slam in his face with just as much boisterous noise of the thunder that shook the inn seconds after.

            The young, poor man raised himself to his feet and dusted himself off, quickly leaving in a flurry of thoughts to fetch the man’s horse and bring it to the stables before he saw a darker side of his newest guest. He wished for a short moment that he could be at the Prince’s ball tonight with a striking young woman than running back and forth out into the rain fulfilling some affluent wanderer’s demands.


	2. Chapter 2

            The king expected the servants to tend to his offspring by themselves. His heir was old enough to take care of himself, so he expected him only to require a servant to pick up after him and alert him of the time. He was responsible, as he should be. He spoke highly of being king one day, and he should follow up with these words with his actions.

            The crystal chandeliers had been lit and polished. The chefs were earnestly working on preparing dinner for the long list of maidens and their parents, one that would be eaten with great care and poise with his son, Lovino, inspecting each and every woman while he ate his favorite, lamb, with exotic sides and dishes. He would then be positioned at the door to the ballroom, nodding to the parents as they left their girls in a long line. He would kiss each maiden’s hand, ask their name, and welcome them to the palace of Raviel with a warm, convivial smile.

            He would then dance with each maiden, inspect her personality with close eyes, and determine which ones he would like best. These girls would be invited to stay for an extended period as the king and queen discussed with their parents how diplomatic alliances would form. These alliances would shape their kingdom, and thus, grow and expand and become better as a whole. Then, all the women would either stay in the castle to rest until morning, where they would leave to retreat back to their own kingdoms, castles, or humble homes. Lovino would then spend time with every girl he picked from the selection. He would then weed them out when they grew dull or not in his interest, and soon, he’d be left with one.

            The king thought it an infallible plan.

            The young prince Lovino was sat at the end of the long, long table, one only reserved for diplomatic meetings, and his father sat on the far end. They had called together fifty girls, most with two parents each, some with just mothers and some with just fathers. Lovino was amazed he could still hear his father at the end of the table through all the clamor of silver against porcelain dishes. He supposed it was just his father being his loud self, or the way the tall room was built. Sounds echoed from everywhere and he was able to hear each individual voice. His little brother Feliciano sat to his right, eager to please while Lovino silently ate his favorite meal and wordlessly piled vegetables, mushrooms, potatoes, fruits, and meats on his plates that he ate with care and grace, dotting his mouth with the cloth napkin whenever he finished a dish with the elegance some would say of a woman. He was merely clean and composed. He wouldn’t be seen with grease from the lamb on his lips, nor the sauce of any cranberry on his chin. His brother tried to mimic him, so it wasn’t a habit needing fixing in the slightest.

            In fact, Feliciano, the ‘cute’ and well-spoken eleven-year-old prince of Raviel was analogous to a parrot. He would often squawk back what Lovino once said in the absence of company, always by his side when Lovino tolerated it. He imitated his actions very well, trying to be like his brother, who would once become king. He sometimes even wore Lovino’s cologne to seem older. He was currently mocking Lovino’s actions perfectly in sync, much to the older prince’s irritation, but was also complimenting maidens on their looks with manners no eleven-year-old could ever hope to achieve. Some giggled mindlessly and thanked him as their cheeks reddened like ripe strawberries and seemed just as sweet. Others thanked him with a cool reply, often not looking at him, but also seeming very infatuated with Lovino himself, as if they were only interested in the title they could hold if they managed to be the select few Lovino picked to stay and possibly marry. He paid no attention to them, although he understood wholly why they were acting so vile.

            The king demanded attention through the mere power of his voice. Lovino barely noticed. He was pointedly glared at by his father until he looked up from finishing his final course. “What an honor it is to have you all here to my kingdom.” He beamed. Lovino noticed upon further inspection that his plate was clear, while other girls struggled to finish their desserts. Probably much more food than they were ever used to having. “I earnestly hope your dinner was palatable to your taste, and now, I hope that you will join us in the ballroom, where we will celebrate my dear son’s twentieth birthday.” Applause was sounded and Lovino bowed his head in thanks for being one year older, a very formidable accomplishment in the eyes of the world by the sound of their applause. He tried very hard not to roll his eyes and he left the table to stand mutely at the door while parents made their way into the room and shook the hands of the king and queen. The line formed. Some girls rushed to be the first in line, as to be the thought he would carry throughout the entire night. Others kindly fell in to place, not worrying at all. Some were like does, shaking in their spots with their well-designed fans violently beating the air around their faces. They stood scattered about. He looked from the long line to the first woman, a fierce-looking maiden who smiled a little too hard and forced her hand into his a little too readily, as if she was very determined to be in his select few.

            Lovino was a little put-off by her, but smiled anyway, asked her name, and kissed her hand, saying it suited her well. Greta would suit a rhinoceros well, too. He laughed when she melted under his touch, not at her wicked way of doing so, but merely of the thought of him ever having to kiss the hand of a wild beast. Next woman.

            The greetings were quickly becoming something he did by rote, never really meaning anything he said until he came across maiden number twenty-two, which had very beautiful blond locks of hair, although they were cut close to her shoulder blades as if some act of rebellion. She had shining green eyes that sparkled when she finally looked him in the eye. Lovino couldn’t help but smile; much of his smiling that night had been forced anyway. She was indifferent until she finally got up to him, and seemed to smile herself when she saw his large smile. Instead of greeting him, she waited for him to speak. He waited for her, and realized that he was holding up the line. His father looked at him from beyond the shoulder of the corresponding parent, looking at his reaction.

            Lovino rushed to recover. “Welcome to Raviel, it’s a pleasure to have you.” He stammered, and her teeth were shown when that smile became a grin. Her hand was bare, unlike the others, and he gladly took it into his own and raised it to his lips, barely leaving her gaze. “What is your name?”

            The maiden paused. She seemed cautious to tell. “Belle,” the woman admitted, and he tested these words on his tongue. She laughed softly, however she didn’t melt or sigh or grin wildly like many others. She was special. He looked over her shoulder for a short moment and saw that his father was staring him down like a hawk, watching his expression. Lovino straightened himself, nodded to her, and told her that he’d look forward to dancing with her. He would. She followed his eyes and looked back shortly, smiling to him and being quickly replaced by another maiden, one not so fair on these eyes in Lovino’s opinion, but suitable. Average.

            Only four other girls caught his attention, those of which were attractive or witty enough to leave a lasting impression. He would refuse to say he enjoyed their presence, however short it may have been. His father asked him once he was done kissing every hand if he would like to begin dancing, then. Lovino’s eyes widened, thinking this would truly be the end of him and that if he had to see some of the maiden’s faces again he would truly expire.

            “Must I?” He groaned, looking to the wide, long clock behind his father and seeing the night was still very young. “Father, may I ask for the possibility to be excused for a short while? I need the washroom.” Lovino asked kindly. His father obliged, whispering under his breath to take the time he needed. His arm was stopped again, however. “Yes?”

            “Which ones are you interested in?” The king asked with a proud smile clear on his face. He had seen his interest in a few spare maidens. “The one from across the ocean?”

            “Belle,” he told him immediately, looking back into the room. “There was also a spare few… Katyusha, and perhaps Lili, if she were older… Father, please, I need to go,”

            “You like a blond, I’ll do well to remember that.” He laughed, and embraced his anxious son in his arms and kissed his cheeks. “I am very proud of the man you’ve become. You’re to be a great king, I’m sure of it.”

            Lovino paused, feeling his skin shift under his clothes and prickle like little needles. His neck broke into a cold sweat. The horse was prepared in the stable with his bags, his small white dove he often spent time with in the summer days, and enough books to fill his time. He had planned to rise a revolution in the kingdom so he wouldn’t have to marry, so that he would be the true king and overthrow his father and mother. He was distraught, yet the plans were still in place and he had never expected so much tenderness out of his father. Or to meet a fair collection of ladies he would actually enjoy spending some time with. Lovino’s heart sank to his gut and drummed there, threatening to vomit his birthday supper. “Thank you, father,” he whispered, his eyes threatening to cast tears if he wasn’t careful. “I love you.”

            “I love you, too, my son.” He told him, and planted one more kiss to his forehead, as he had when Lovino was but three feet high. “Go, then.”

            Lovino swallowed the bile rising in his throat and with a shaken gasp of breath, nodded, and quickly turned to gather his horse and head west to begin his revolution.

 

-    ♦    -

           

            After being kicked out of the room and having to escort the man’s steed to the stables, Antonio went to his own bed, one quite the opposite of his guests’. It was crafted from hay and wood from the forest, created very skillfully with a large tarp to cover the hay and two very thick, once soft blankets that were as billowy as the hay below him. He tucked himself tightly in to warm himself up again and slept for however many hours it was until his father came in to wake him.

            They ate breakfast early so they could then make the morning meals for the guests who wanted it and the civilians who came in to treat themselves, which was a scare thing these days. Antonio pondered last night’s events as he held back a cough. The porridge this morning was hot and he was taking his time eating it. His father looked up from his accounting books and looked his son directly in the eye. “Please don’t tell me you’re getting sick, too, Antonio.” He murmured, his voice trying to be scolding but concerned instead. “Your mother kept me up all last night; I can’t lose you, too.” He meant for the work, but Antonio regretted to think that since his mother’s condition was worsening, that they would have one less mouth to feed by the end of the month. He shook that thought quickly. “What’s the matter?”

            Antonio looked up from the cracked table and smiled softly, shaking his head. “Nothing, pa, ’m sorry,” he whispered, coughing anyway. He caught a little cold from the rain, but it wasn’t anything he couldn’t handle. “A man, a noble of a sort took the rich room last night. He came in cloaked and didn’t know how to spend his money.” He explained, and his father opened the box on the table they kept the money in and plucked out the two gold pieces, as if questioning him. “Yes, those are what he paid with. He plans to stay as long as he wishes…” Antonio mumbled, and his father nodded.

            “See to him, then. I’ll work the kitchen today.” He said after a moment, and Antonio nodded, rubbing his bleary eyes and taking a sip from the hot tea in his glass. Work would begin shortly. Very shortly. He scooped as much porridge he could into his mouth without burning and choking himself and saw to the dishes as soon as possible. He dressed in his usual set of clothes, a drawstring shirt and some shin-length brown durable trousers, ones that he wore with tall stockings in the winter, but for now, just hidden by his shoes that had lasted him a couple of years and were now hurting his feet to wear. It was getting colder and it still drizzled, so for good measure he wore a cloak and kept it on because the door to the inn was opening and closing frequently. There was an off chance someone would stand in the open doorway, letting all the heat out, just so they could speak to someone inside. Antonio was doing a lot of the hard work, the laundry, the maintenance, the desk, the bar if his father wasn’t present. He would be stationed near his mother in case she needed assistance with something. She was very poorly, so he didn’t complain.

            Work had begun. He had taken fresh sheets from a cupboard and went to the room the large, sturdy man had inhabited last night and knocked twice, then again, and opened the door to see the bag of change, a tip, left on the nightstand. He pocketed the money and replaced the sheets easily enough, grimacing at the odor that clung to the dirty ones. His richer guest nearly ran into him in the hallway, coming down the stairs and shut in his own thoughts. Antonio gasped in surprise and it brought the man back to attention. He looked poorly, too. “Good morning,” he greeted half-heartedly, his smile forced. “Did you rest well?”

            The man nodded quickly, drew his hood over his face and left the inn to the town. Antonio sincerely hoped he didn’t try to spend all his money somewhere else, because people weren’t as kind and cautious to being pegged as thieves as his family and their inn were.


End file.
